Reaching into the Darkness
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: McGee is kidnapped and tortured in the worst way, and Tony must figure out how to help him recover. VERY STRONG T for implied torture and rape. No strong language. See description for a full warning. Final chapter up.
1. Reaching into the Darkness

_**Just a little oneshot that popped into my head and had to be written down..**_

_**A/N: BATFE stands for Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, while the ATF is it's predecessor, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, which some people still call it. Also, I am neither a doctor, a psychologist, nor a computer specialist, but I tried to research as best I could, so if something's not right, I apologize in advance.**_

_**Warnings: It is rated T, but it is a VERY STRONG T. There is heavily implied rape and torture, so if those things make you feel queasy or uneasy, I would politely suggest you not read this. Also, I am not (because some will think this) a homophobe. I refer to the act disgusting because it is a gross violation of a person, physically and mentally, NOT because of any homosexual implications. Rape is about power, not sex or orientation.**_

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"_Dare to reach out into the darkness,_

_to pull another hand into the light."_

_-Norman B. Rice_

You are incensed. Outraged. Horrified. Disgusted. How could someone do this to another human being? They must be inhuman, soulless. Timothy McGee was lying in a hospital bed on his stomach, staring blankly out the window. You and the rest of the team are outside, and you keep replaying the day's events in your head.

McGee had been kidnapped off the street by a drug ring from DC, based out of Baltimore. They sent a live feed of the agent to his computer, and no one could turn it off to get rid of the horrible images; they could only silence the screams. At one point, you and Gibbs got the courage to go into Abby's lab and listen to the sound. You lasted only fifteen minutes. Gibbs lasted twenty. Abby worked desperately to pinpoint a location while the gang tortured McGee, demanding to know what organization he was from (convinced it was the BATFE) and hitting/kicking/burning him when they claimed he lied about it. He was obviously in pain, often visibly crying and/or screaming. You offered to take up the watch, keeping track of what they did to your Probie. You felt responsible, although you know there's no logical reason because there was nothing you could've done. At one point, they yank him to his feet and drag him just off screen. You reluctantly plug in some headphones to keep track of things, and you almost break down. His screams echoed in your ears, his cries for them to stop what they were doing ringing in your head. Realization, caused by the rhythmic movements you could barely see, caused you to squeeze your eyes shut, but the sounds still come through the headphones. You finally heard him collapse to the floor, sobbing and heaving. You nearly let out a shaky sigh when McGee spoke again, shakily begging for them to stop. There was laughter, derisive and cruel, and as a strange gagging sound filled your ears, you came the closest to ripping the earbuds out. The only thing stopping you was the idea of McGee taking all the pain alone. You force your eyes open, still upset by the movement of the images just on the edge of the screen.

McGee was finally dragged into view and right up to the camera, weakly clutching his tattered clothes to himself, trying to cover himself as best he could. One eye was completely swollen shut. His chin was covered in blood from his nose. Something white was dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His cheek shone with tears from his good eye. He was whimpering softly.

"You like your friends at the ATF seein' you like this, pretty boy? You like them knowing what happened to you? You gonna tell me who you're with now?"

"I already told you," he moaned, "I'm from NCIS. I wasn't even investigat- _ow_!"

A swift punch to the gut cut off his words, causing him to cry out in pain, fresh tears leaking from his undamaged eye. Abby rushed in as the ringleader walked away, dropping McGee to the floor. She found him, directions in her hand. You snatched them from her unceremoniously and ran for the elevator. Your teeth were on edge the whole way there, your heart in your throat. Gibbs and Ziva didn't ask questions, knowing that you had watched his torture. Your blood pounded through your veins as you and the others let off round after round, taking down armed enemies as they showed their faces. You took particular pleasure in killing the one who hurt McGee the most, doubletapping his stomach and shoulder, ensuring a slow death and the inability to shoot anyone else.

"McGee! McGee, where are you? Come on, answer me! MCGEE!" you shouted.

You ducked into a side room, quickly taking out a final armed assailant before noticing McGee. The younger agent was curled up in a ball on the floor, trembling and breathing shallowly. You moved closer to him, saying, "McGee… McGee, can you hear me? It's Tony…"

"T-T-Tony?"

"Yeah… yeah, it's Tony…"

"I'm s-sorry… I'm really s-sorry…"

"No… no, you don't have to be sorry for anything. Nothing's your fault, buddy, okay?"

"D-don't let them see m-me… not l-like this… p-p-please… don't l-let them in…"

You did as you were asked, surveying the room as you reached out for a blanket to cover him with. There was blood spattered on the walls and floor and a small pool under him. His clothes were practically torn apart and pockmarked with cigarette burns, undoubtedly much like his flesh. His abdomen was mottled a deep bluish-purple from the physical abuse earlier in the day. His hands were clenched into fists in an attempt to keep his pants covering his genitals and buttocks; there was a large bloodstain on the seat of the pants. You covered him with the blanket and waited patiently for him to stop shivering as much. After a few minutes, you said, "Listen buddy, we've gotta get you to the hospital. I can either let the paramedics in or carry you out to them… I'll let you choose, 'kay?"

He started to tremble again whimpering, "I don't want them to see me… they can't… please-!"

"McGee, McGee, calm down. It's okay. They really want to see you. They want to know you're okay… alive. They won't say anything. I'm gonna keep you wrapped up in this blanket. I promise."

The younger agent needed to be calmed down a bit further before consenting to be carried out to the paramedics. Gibbs and Ziva seemed to understand they hang back and didn't clamor to see McGee. As you laid him down on the gurney, he automatically rolled onto his side, quietly asking you to ride with him. You locked eyes with Gibbs, who nodded his head in approval. You were almost afraid to touch him on the way there, worried how he would react. Meanwhile, the paramedics asked questions about what happened that McGee barely answered, unaware that you knew what happened.

So now you sit in the hospital with Gibbs, Ziva, Ducky, and Abby, waiting for the doctor to come out. She was a pretty little thing, obviously fresh from her residency and still retaining some naiveté. If the timing weren't so serious, you would take note of her small frame, exquisite curves, and messy-yet-adorable brunette bun.

"You must be Agent McGee's team," she said calmly, "I'm Dr. Benz, Agent McGee's doctor. I have to say that I was… shocked at the extent of his injuries. He was tortured extensively. I noted cigarette burns on his back, chest, and biceps, as well as his thighs and buttocks. He also has severe bruising to his right eye socket, a nearly broken nose, a split lip, and bruised ribs. On top of that, he sustained abrasions to the back of his throat and… and a great deal of tearing to his rectal passage that will require surgery. He's also started to lapse into a stage of numbness. He doesn't respond to any stimuli, really, at least not in the way we'd expect. He flinches slightly when touched or spoken to, but he doesn't answer any of our questions. Agent McGee has requested that no one be allowed in to see him for now, which should be respected for the sake of his fragile psychological state. We'll keep checking up on him every fifteen minutes."

"Will he be okay?" Abby asks tearfully, "Like, when can he come home?"

"It's hard to say. Physically, he'll be ready to leave in a couple weeks. Psychologically, he'll need much longer to heal. Rape is extremely traumatic, especially one this violent. It becomes a part of that person forever, whether they like it or not."

Abby stifles a sob and leaves the waiting room; Ziva follows her. Gibbs curses under his breath, and Ducky puts his hand on your shoulder, whispering, "He'll come out of this all right, Anthony… he's stronger than we often think."

"I hope you're right, Ducky… I really do… 'cause I'll go nuts if he stays like this forever," you say, then turn to Dr. Benz and ask, "What should we have set up for him, when he's ready to go home?"

"Does he live with anyone?"

"He's got a dog… ex-military," you answer, "Why?"

"I wouldn't leave him alone for long periods of time," she explains, "He might be paranoid for a while. Whoever stays with him should be prepared to deal with some nightmares of the assault."

"Thanks. I'll set everything up. Are you sure he won't let anyone in?"

"I can ask him again," she sighs.

She disappears into McGee's room, emerging a few moments later, saying, "Go on in… but I'll escort you out if he gets too upset, okay?" and stepping aside to let you in. You close in on him slowly, announcing yourself so you don't startle him. He doesn't move very much. You pull up a chair beside him, where you can see his face.

"How're you feeling, McGee?"

"Sore," he rasps, "Did she… did she tell you what happened?"

"I already knew. They somehow got a… a live feed of what was happening to you to us. I… I already knew… I sat through it. All of it. I saw everything they did to you."

McGee's lip trembles, and you want to reach out and comfort him. Your hand hovers over his arm, unsure of whether or not you should touch him. You allow your fingers to graze his skin, and he flinches, causing you to withdraw your hand.

"I'm sorry, Tony," he murmurs, "I just… I don't know… I can't-"

"It's okay, McGee. I understand. It's okay… it'll get better. Just rest for now, buddy… 'kay?"

McGee nods as much as he can, his lip still trembling. You touch his arm briefly and walk out. Gibbs is the only one left in the waiting room. He puts his hand on your shoulder, and you let a few tears slip out. Gibbs draws you into a quick embrace, then orders you to stay the night at the hospital.

"Don't worry, boss," you reply, "I had already planned on it. See you tomorrow."

xXxXxXx

After the predicted two weeks, McGee is released from the hospital. He is pale and somber, silent all the way home, the only movement coming from his head lolling with the motion of the vehicle. You don't attempt conversation. He simply goes into his room but comes back out a moment later.

"Something wrong, McGee?"

"You're still here."

"Yup."

"Why?"

"To keep you company."

He looks at you suspiciously until you say, "Gibbs," whereupon he returns to his room. You know he's still on a few pain meds, so he's going to sleep for a while. Dr. Benz told you that he'd had no nightmares at the hospital, but a change in surroundings could trigger them. You set up camp on his couch for the night, thinking about bringing an air mattress over for the remainder of your stay. You order pizza and soda for dinner, gently coaxing McGee out for food; you are pleasantly surprised when he eats two slices. For a moment he looks as though he might want to stay and watch a movie with you, but he returns to bed instead. You sigh as the door shuts behind him, getting out your multitude of DVDs. You get through _M_ and _Big Jake_ before you hear the first signs of a nightmare: whimpers and moans. However, you aren't prepared for how quickly it escalates into loud, pleading screams. You break into a run, slamming into the door and flinging it open.

"McGee! McGee, wake up!"

"NO! No, please! Stop! NO! STOP!"

"MCGEE!"

You finally shake him into wakefulness. His eyes snap open, tears rolling, his breathing unchecked. He is dangerously close to hyperventilating, so you climb into bed behind him, your chest pressed to his back, trying to help him control his breathing. He squirms wildly at first, not comfortable with the position, but you whisper softly, "It's okay, Tim. It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just breathe with me. C'mon, buddy…"

He grips the sheets tightly ("You're doing great, Tim."), trying to do as you say ("Just breathe nice and slow… just like me…"), until his breathing is finally at a normal level. You suddenly realize McGee is shirtless. Little round scars, extremely faded, dot his back and arms; you wouldn't have noticed them if you weren't so close. Your fingers ghost over them, and McGee is shaking again.

"I'm sorry, Tony… I'm real-"

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing that happened is your fault. It's okay. Come here…"

You maneuver your bodies so that you're facing each other. He is crying softly but openly. You gently pull him close to you, rubbing his back and carefully pressing his head to your shoulder, your cheek resting on his head.

"It's okay… you can let it out, Tim. Go ahead… let it out."

As if on cue, sobs burst forth from his lips as his body shakes violently in your arms. He clutches at you as if you would disappear at any moment, his hands fisted tightly in your shirt. His breath rushes over your skin in sharp, humid bursts as his tears soak through your shirt. Heart wrenching sobs cause tears to slip from your own eyes, falling gently on his head. One hand works a soothing rhythm over his back, the other softly stroking his short hair.

"It's gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay," you repeat shakily, trying to make yourself believe, too, "It'll get better, Tim. I promise it'll get better."

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_**I hope you all enjoyed it. Reviews warm my heart in the depths of winter =]**_

_**Also, debating on whether or not I should continue this with either another chapter or oneshot.. please tell me what you think!**_


	2. Going Down

_**Here it is! The readers have spoken, and I have provided my lovelies with more material! I'll admit I wasn't too sure about continuing, but I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!**_

_**Here it is!**_

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_A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down._

_- Arnold Glasow_

It has been three months since McGee was 'assaulted'. That is the word everyone uses because no one wants to say 'rape', even if it's what really happened. 'Rape' is too strong, too harsh. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, makes you feel awkward. You still sit up late, long after he's gone to bed, listening for a nightmare. You have been living with him for the last three months: partially Gibbs' orders, partially your own initiative. You are thankful to have been the first one to find him. He would've been mortified and ashamed if Gibbs had found him, and Ziva would have insisted on bringing everyone in against his wishes. For all your previous teasing of him, you know he looked up to you, and you cherished that to a point. It made you feel important.

After the first night back, the first nightmare, McGee managed to convince himself that everything was fine. He acts as though he is not perturbed or anxious, but everyone can see it. They can clearly see he's had trouble sleeping, that he is nervous, fearful, near paranoid. They can't really blame him. After all, his 'attacker' (a drug lord named Jeffrey Lionel) is still alive, despite your best efforts to deprive him of that luxury. He was in the hospital for quite a while, then was sent to jail to await trial. There is a veritable laundry list of charges against him, all with extremely good evidence against him. The only foreseeable problem is the trial.

You aren't sure McGee is ready to testify, and that time is coming fast. Secretly, you are terrified that he will try to open up to you before the trial, perhaps to trying to get it off his chest beforehand to expel some of the emotion. You don't know if you can handle knowing everything that happened. The few horrifying details you have are more than enough. The secret of _everything_ would be far too much. You get the feeling that he wants to tell you, but he always backs down before he gives in. It must be a terrible weight, this secret of shocking violence and violation.

You just want things to go back to normal. You want the easy joking and camaraderie of three months and a day ago. Part of you wants to grab him and shake him and tell him to go back to normal, but the rest of you knows it won't work at all.

So you moved in with him, creating a nest of air mattresses, blankets, and pillows in the living room, staying up with him when couldn't sleep and soothing his nightmares when they cropped up.

One such night, shortly before the trial, McGee has one of these nightmares. You have become tuned into these nightmares, waking easily at any unsettling noise he makes. You wake quickly, going to his room and gently waking him. You withdraw your hands as his eyes open, knowing that he would want to control and touching immediately following such a dream. His eyes are wide and fearful for a few seconds before he realizes where he is. He lets out a shaky sigh and pushes himself into a sitting position, pressing close to you.

"I'm really sorry, Tony," he mutters.

"For what?"

"For waking you up."

"Don't worry about it, McGee. It's fine… really. What happened?"

"Nightmare."

"Obviously. What about?"

"What do you think?"

"You know what-"

"Yeah… yeah, I know. I just… I just… I dunno. I relived it… again."

He looks away, embarrassed. You carefully ask, "Wanna talk about it? It might help."

McGee shakes his head, saying, "No… not really. I… don't think I'm ready."

"You're gonna have to tell them everything at the trial. You know that, right? It might make it easier if you tell someone close to you first…"

He ponders it for a moment before saying, "I can't tell you everything… I'm not ready yet… but I can tell you… it's really weird though…"

"Go ahead. It's okay."

"I… I'm really afraid to be left alone anymore. I used to love solitude, but now it terrifies me. I see _him_ in the shadows, waiting to hurt me again… And even though I don't wanna be alone, I don't… wanna be touched if I didn't start it. Even Abby's hugs freak me out anymore. I'm just… just so…"

"That'll all go away in time. It can be fixed with a little therapy and repetitive… stuff."

McGee smirks briefly, and you heart leaps. It's the first peek at true smile you've seen from him in months. The younger agent has turned red. He murmurs, "Will you stay here tonight?"

"I already stay every night, McGee."

"No… I mean… will you stay _here_ tonight? With me? I'm hoping it will keep me from having any more nightmares… I dunno…"

"I'll get my pillows," you answer.

He seems to relax even as you get up to leave. You have mixed feelings. You hope this tactic keeps his nightmares away, but you're almost afraid of it becoming a nightly happening. What if someone found out? You don't have anything against gays, but you're decidedly straight and want people to continue knowing it. You shake the misgivings from your head and go back in. McGee doesn't need your insecurities right now, not when he's struggling with his own. He is already curled up under the covers, his back against the wall. (He moved everything around to make sure he could do this.) You carefully place your pillows on the bed as he looks up at you.

"Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate this," he says quietly.

"It's what friends are for, Tim."

Another smile. Your lips quirk upwards as you get into bed beside him. It's a little awkward at first, but you just think of it as sharing a hotel bed with someone. Stick to your side, and it's fine. Not permanent… except you're not sure how long this will last. You look over at McGee and find he's fallen asleep already. Insomnia and nightmares can really take it out of person. Before you put your head on your pillow, you whisper, "I'm not gonna let you keep going down, Tim. You have to get better soon."

You both sleep soundly for the rest of the night.

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_**I hope it fulfilled all your hopes and dreams =]**_

_**Keep an eye out for the next chapter! And Christmas cookies to anyone who can tell me the significance of the suspects name!**_


	3. Landlord to a Ghost

**_Happy Christmahanukwanzukah to all! Here is my belated gift to you all: the third chapter =)_**

_**A/N: As previously stated, I **_**personally_ do not have anything against gays. I love them a lot, actually. All views stated herein about homosexuality are strictly the way I feel the characters would view it. Also, I have done my very best to research rape trauma syndrome (read: Wikipedia), so I hope everything is as accurate as possible. As usual, if you have any questions, feel free to message me directly or put it in the reviews. I read each and every one, and do my best to respond to them._**

**_Slightly more language in this one, but it's not too bad. Enough of my rambling, though.. on with the story!_**

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_If a man harbors any sort of fear, it percolates through all thinking, damages his personality and makes him a landlord to a ghost._

_-Lloyd Douglas_

"Don't worry, Tim. Everything's gonna be okay. You'll do fine."

"You sure? What if-"

"Calm down," you say, straightening his tie quickly for effect, "It's gonna be fine."

You couldn't have been more wrong. The trial starts normal enough until the defense attorney began his questioning. He has McGee go into nearly explicit detail of the assault. The younger man is almost in tears by the end of it, his voice trembling, visibly shaken. Your hands are balled into fists. Then, the bomb shells really start falling.

"You claim to have been seriously beaten that day, correct, Agent McGee?"

"Yes. The pictures are in evidence, actually. You can see what they did to me for yourself," he answers confidently.

"I did. You were badly injured. So you would've done anything to stop these beatings, then? To stop the pain?"

McGee pales, swallows, replies, "I don't like what you're implying, counselor."

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just asking a simple question. An answer, please."

After a moment, he answers, "No. Not _anything_."

"Almost anything?"

"I still don't like where you're going with this."

"Get to the point, counselor," the judge says.

"Is it true," the lawyer says slowly, "that you did not fight back during your assault?"

"It's hard to fight back when you're being pinned to a wall by guys twice your size after being beaten for several hours. The video is in evidence, too."

You're proud of him in this moment.

"You were very defiant throughout that beating. What I think happened is that you knew what would happen if you kept denying your connection to the BATFE."

"I don't _have_ any connection the BATFE. Even if I admitted a connection, they would've killed me anyway so I couldn't open or continue an investigation on them. It was difficult, but I didn't wanna die."

"My client tells me that… uh… you seemed to… take pleasure from the assault."

The color completely drains from McGee's face. Your nails dig into your palms. _Bastard_.

"No… no… definitely not… no… that's… that's… no," McGee stammers, "No… how could-?"

"But he tells me-"

"I don't care what he says! He's lying!" he half-shouts, tears falling.

The defense attorney goes into explicit detail of what his client claimed happened. Essentially, he claims that McGee actually enjoyed the assault based on the 'facts' that he didn't fight back and had an erection during the sexual assault. McGee is becoming more and more fidgety and upset.

"SHUT UP!"

The attorney turns and stares as if amused. The judge is definitely _not_ amused. It doesn't stop you.

"How can you even insinuate something like that? He's obviously uncomfortable and upset! Do you even understand that? Or are you completely soulless?"

You storm out before a bailiff can escort you. You hear the judge call for a recess behind you, the people in the gallery grumbling and gossiping. A bailiff comes up to you, and you're expecting to be either arrested or charged a fine.

"Agent DiNozzo, Agent McGee is asking for you," she says matter-of-factly, "Follow me please."

You clench your jaw tightly, following her back to a room by the judge's chambers. She opens the door. The unfortunately familiar sound of McGee hyperventilating fills the room. You thank the bailiff and shut the door behind her, drawing the blinds in the only window. You move to him quickly, trying to calm him.

"C'mon, McGee… you gotta breathe, buddy," you say quietly, "C'mon, breathe."

"Can't-! I can't-!" he gasps, "Why… why would he-? How could he-?"

"Ssh, calm down… it's gonna be okay, Tim. He's just an asshole. Don't worry abou-"

"No! No, it's not! You know what they're gonna think now?"

"Don't worry about that now. Just breathe… c'mere," you reply, your voice calm.

You put your arms around him, trying to calm him down. His hands are fisted in your shirt at your abdomen, your chests pressed together. You can feel his heart pounding, his chest heaving; it's a few minutes before he calms down. Once he's breathing normally, you pull away slowly. Tears are rolling steadily down his face, his lip trembling, hands still gripping your shirt. You whisper, "That guy's an asshole, don't-"

"Did you ever really think I was gay, Tony?" McGee asks bluntly, looking up at you.

You're momentarily stunned, finally saying, "What? No… no, of course not. It was just some frat-style hazing. I never meant anything by it, I swear."

His lip trembles even more, his face scrunching up. Realization hits you like a bullet, and you quietly ask, "Is that what this is about? You're worried I'll think you're gay?"

"Not just you, Tony. Everybody! They're all gonna think it! What if they believe him? What if they think I… _wanted_ it on a subconscious level? What's gonna happen to him? To me?"

"_No one_ is gonna think that, Tim. No one. Nobody with their sanity intact _wants_ to be raped."

"I don't know anymore… I don't know… what if… what if I am gay?"

"No one who matters is gonna care. Not Gibbs, not Ziva, and certainly not me."

McGee nods, then asks, "Can I tell you something, Tony? Please?"

"Anything you want."

"I wanted to fight back, I really did," he explains softly, "but I couldn't. I was being held against the wall, and I was hurting so bad. If I would've told him I was from the BATFE, he would've killed me, and I didn't wanna die… but I didn't know what was coming, either. I knew what he was gonna do as soon as he… as soon as he grabbed my pants. My brain short-circuited. I didn't know what else to do. I could only scream, and it didn't even work. He still… he still-… and then he made me… I felt _dirty_ when I realized what was happening while he… _attacked_ me. I keep trying to tell myself that it's a normal bodily reaction that often occurs in that situation, but I can't help but think that maybe I'm gay to some degree… that part of me wants it… and I just don't know what to do anymore, Tony, I just don't. I'm so worried people are gonna think that… I don't have anything against gays, but it's not… I don't wanna lose my job."

"You're not gonna lose your job, Tim. I promise," you whisper, pulling him in, "Gibbs wouldn't let it happen… and neither would I."

He sniffles into your shoulder, obviously holding back sobs… so you hold him until the trial resumes.

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_**There you have it. There is one more chapter after this, but I am going to start putting together a special epilogue for those who have asked very nicely =) Keep an eye on the inbox for the next chapter!**_


	4. Keep Going

_**Here it is! The *final* chapter of Reaching into the Darkness =] **_

_**Thanks so much to everyone who asked for more and stuck with it, especially those who gave lovely reviews! However, everyone who added this to your favorites and alerts also just made it so worthwhile! But enough of my babbling... on with the story! I hope you all enjoy it!**_

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_If you're going through hell, keep going. – Winston Churchill_

It has been one month since the trial of McGee's rapist. He's been going downhill ever since, slow but sure. He has gotten thinner from a lack of appetite and has a great deal of nausea when he does eat. He doesn't even like to ride the elevator alone. There are bags under his eyes from nightly nightmares and general insomnia. He's often irritable, snapping at you, Gibbs, Ziva, even Abby. You're losing him.

You're becoming frustrated again, wanting him to get better faster, even though you know it won't happen. You want to hit him, shake him, make him come to his senses, but you know it would be useless, counterproductive. So, you drop hints at therapy, seeing a counselor, a psychiatrist. You're met with refusal after refusal. Finally, even Gibbs and Ducky become fed up, and Gibbs orders him to go home one day. McGee pales, saying, "Well, I can't go by myself. I'm not… it's not safe. Someone's gotta go with me."

"Well, I can't spare anyone right now, McGee, and you're not making it easy for anyone here!"

"You can't do that to me! Not when there's someone out there who wants to kill me!"

"Come, McGee," Ziva says calmly, "there is no one out there who wants you dead."

"Yes there is! Jeffrey Lionel does! My testimony put him in jail! What if he gets off? Gets out? He'll kill me!" he shouts.

More than half the bullpen is staring. You quickly snatch up his arm and drag him into the elevator, then pulling a Gibbs and stopping it.

"McGee, I understand you're hurting, but this _needs_ to stop. You cannot keep snapping at everyone! You almost had Abby in tears! I don't care what you do to me when we get home, but _do not_ do it here. Look, Ducky's not busy. I'll take you down there 'til it's time to go."

You don't even give him time to protest. Jimmy looks slightly worried, and you know he's felt McGee's wrath of late. Ducky, however, is ever the gracious host and provides McGee with a multitude of computer troubles to occupy him, saying that technical problems are best to keep one's mind off things. Gibbs allows you to leave early, solely to take McGee home and get him straightened out. He is eerily silent on the way home, and you concoct a plan to fix his attitude.

"Hit me," you say as you close the door behind you.

"What?"

"Just hit me. I know you want to."

"Tony, I'm not gonna-"

"Just do it! You've been pissed for a month! Take it out on me al-"

McGee connects solidly with a right hook. Your head whips to the side. Suddenly, he's swinging wildly, barely connecting any punches, pushing you… and you just let him go. After five minutes, you grab his wrists and hold them tightly. He immediately breaks down.

"I wanted to hurt him, Tony! Sometimes it was all I could think about! I just had these horrible… fantasies of killing him! I couldn't help it! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"_No_. Don't be sorry for that. It's only natural. You know everyone felt the same way about Ari when he killed Kate, especially me and Gibbs… even Ducky. That's nothing to be sorry for."

"Tony, you don't get it! I wanted to do _really_ bad things to him… really gruesome things. You don't… you don't know how many times I've killed him in my head… the ways I've… imagined revenge."

"I've already told you not to worry about that."

"I don't wanna become that, Tony… I don't…"

"You won't. Lionel's been sentenced," you state quietly.

McGee's eyes go wide, wet with tears. He seems stunned for a moment before asking, "What?"

"Yup. Sentenced to life without parole. He's never getting out of prison, not after the combination of charges against him," you explain, your own voice filling with emotion.

He throws his arms around your neck, crying from joy, the side of his face pressed against your bruised jaw. You murmur, "You never have to worry about him again, Tim. Never again," holding him close, trying to control your emotions, to be strong for him as he sobs in your arms. Only a few tears escape your eyes. You continue to hold him long after he stops quaking.

"What do I do now? I put all my energy into putting him away," he says thickly.

"You just keep going," you answer, "You can't make this who you are. Not forever."

"I'm never gonna forget this. It's gonna be a part of me for the rest of my life."

"But you can't let it _become_ you. You can't let it control your life. It's gonna get better, Tim. It has to get better from here."

It is a long time before the silence is broken, and it is McGee quietly asking for you stay with him in his room again. It's the first time he's asked in a while, and you can't help but say yes. You remain awake long after he falls asleep. He sleeps without a shirt for the first time in months. Your eyes adjust to the darkness quickly. Little, round, faded scars can barely be seen, shining faintly in the moonlight. You have to resist the urge to touch one, just to see if it would feel like any other scar. You have become closer than a brother to this man in four months than you had in years of knowing him. Seeing the faint scars of that fateful day simply kills you inside. Tears roll down your cheeks as you look at him. This whole ordeal has hurt him so much. You stifle a sob, then another, trying not to wake McGee. The bed dips, and a pair of arms wraps around you from behind. He whispers, "It's okay, Tony… you can let it out now…"

After months of frustration and anger and hiding your feelings, you finally allow yourself to cry as you should have at the beginning, as you haven't in years… and for once, McGee is doing the comforting. You break down in his arms, sobbing loudly, tears streaming down your face. The younger agent simply holds you, trying to soothe you.

"Sorry, Tim…"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for… just like you always tell me."

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_**If you are interested, I will be posting an epilogue to this story hopefully soon. It will be slashy, so I'm thinking about posting it as a separate oneshot. (The title will be 'Just As They Are'.) Let me know what you think! Thanks again for all the love!**_


	5. Just As They Are

_**Here it is at last! This is legit the final chapter here, after many internal struggles and decision-making and changes to my plan =D**_

**_A/N: There be slash here. I have warned you previously about the slashy nature of this chapter/epilogue. If slash is not your thing, please take 'Keep Going' (chapter 4) as the final chapter. If you do enjoy slash, than enjoy this chapter please!_**

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_But oh! the blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one's deepest as well as one's most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. _

_-Dinah Craik_

Six months after McGee's rape, two months after his rapist is put away, you are still living with him. His nightmares are not as plentiful anymore, occurring only once a week or so. You are always there for him, whenever he wants to talk or needs comfort. You think to yourself, in the safety of your own head, who you're staying there for: him… or you? McGee is still a little paranoid and doesn't like being left alone, so it makes sense for you to stay. It saves both of you money, as you share his rent. However, you wonder sometimes if you are starting to feel anything else for McGee besides friendship, and you can't decide if it scares you or not. You've never considered a relationship of any sort with another man, nor have you been any kind of intimate with one (discounting the tranny, of course).

The sounds of a nightmare cut your ruminations short. You diligently rise from the couch and go in to him. He is whimpering and moaning in his sleep, trembling and sweating through his thin T-shirt. You gently wake him. His eyes snap open, look around, then slip shut again. He takes a few galvanizing breaths as you gently rub his back for support. After a few moments he sits up, moving to sit beside you. He rests his head on your shoulder, finally saying, "Tony, if I ask you something, will you promise not to laugh? It's… it's a yes-or-no question…"

"I won't laugh."

"Could… could I… could I… and you don't have to let me, and we never have to bring it up again-"

"What is it, Tim?"

"Could I… kiss you?"

His voice is very low, and he does not look at you as you think about it. It's very tempting to say 'no', to avoid the possibility of future awkwardness and questions, but you feel like he needs this. So you answer, "Yes… but only if you tell me why."

"For the last six months I've been… terrified of trying to date or start a relationship. I'm worried that anyone I'd meet is gonna think I'm damaged goods. I've just got so much baggage now, Tony: what happened to me, my fears, my nightmares, everything. You… you're the only one who knows everything and knows how to handle it. You're… familiar. You're the only one who's had unshakeable faith in me, that I could handle everything. I figured that maybe if I started with you, it'd be more comfortable."

"Why me? Why not Abby? She's familiar. She'd help you out in a heartbeat."

"Abby would treat me like glass. She'd be too afraid to break me to help me the way I need. You wouldn't act like that. You know what I've been feeling, sort of, and you know what I'm afraid of. I've told you my nightmares and everything. You'll know when to stop, when I'm uncomfortable, when-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. No tongues, no intrusion, just your lips on his. You leave them there until he relaxes, then pull away and look at him.

"Alright, Tim," you whisper, "Go ahead. As far as you're comfortable."

He leans in slowly, as if unsure that he really wants to do this. His (soft) lips touch yours. He brings a (sweaty) hand to cup your cheek, simply holding it there. It is slow at first, a simple pressing together of your lips, the barest changes in the angles of your heads. After several moments of this, he parts his lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. It is not long after that that his tongue ends up sliding against yours, McGee having gently pried open your mouth with his own. You think to yourself that it really isn't so different from kissing a woman, even as you reach up to cup his face and feel a little stubble . You let him control the pace, knowing it will keep him calmer. He is a fairly good kisser, surprisingly, his tongue expertly exploring your mouth. His free hand slips up under your shirt and over your stomach and chest. You (reluctantly) break away and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. He looks at you for a moment, reaching out a tentative hand to touch your chest, fingers brushing against the hairs there; he is flushed. His other hand fingers the hem of his T-shirt uncertainly.

"Go ahead, Tim. It's okay," you say softly.

"I dunno, Tony. I'm not… what about-"

"It's okay. Whatever you're worried about, it's okay."

It seems to give him confidence, and he pulls the thin shirt over his head, tossing it over to rest with yours. Small, all-but-gone scars just barely shimmer in the moonlight. You gently run a hand over a small cluster of scars, and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back passionately. You try to be as tender as possible, making a marked change from his attack. Your hands caress his (beautiful) pale skin, thin frame. He wraps an arm around your neck, pulling you closer to him. You're reacting to him in the most primal way, blood rushing to your groin. You maneuver out of your sweatpants, leaving only your boxers. Never taking your lips off his, your carefully remove his pajama bottoms. Your knuckles graze against the bulge in his boxers, causing him to moan into your mouth and press closer to you, a hand resting on your chest. You place a hand on his hip as he pushes you down gently. Your tongue drags across the roof of his mouth as you roll your hips against his. He breaks the kiss briefly to moan before returning to your mouth and doing the exact same thing to you. Your hips buck upwards of their own accord. You nip at his lips. Your teeth click against his. You manage to flip over, so that he is on his back, and you are on top of him, grinding your hips against his. You take your lips away from his mouth and begin kissing and licking at his throat, eliciting (delicious) moans from him. (You continue to tell yourself that all this is for him, all to make him more comfortable in life.) Your lips move from his throat and down over his (smooth) chest, paying special attention to the small cluster of scars and an (wonderful) erect nipple. He whimpers and trembles and gasps underneath you, a hand seizing your hair. You move down his stomach, nipping gently at his abdomen, dipping your tongue quickly into his bellybutton. His breath hitches sharply. You bring up a hand to pull down his boxers. He balks. He starts up into a sitting position, breathing heavily.

"I… I can't… I'm sorry, Tony," he says, avoiding your eyes, "I'm sorr-"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to be sorry? Don't worry. It's as far as you were ready to go… as far as you were comfortable. That's fine."

"I… thanks, Tony."

"For what?"

"For everything you've ever done for me… especially this."

"No problem."

"I mean it. I'm really, truly thankful."

"And I meant what I said, too. It wasn't a problem, or an inconvenience, or anything like that. It was my pleasure. There's nothing I would rather be doing than helping you overcome this. I will always be there if you need me. Now, c'mon, let's get some sleep. We have work in… five hours. I'll stay."

The two of you crawl under the covers, McGee curling up beside you, his head resting on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close and waiting for him to fall asleep. Before you drift off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and murmur, "Sleep tight, Tim. I'm not gonna leave you… promise."

He nestles himself closer into you, and it is the best sleep the two of you have had in six months.

_Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand._

_-Emily Kimbrough_

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**There it is! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story/me. You're all some really wonderful people, who really know how to brighten a day with kind words and great concrit =] **

**_You're awesome._**


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